


Conover Might Be Better

by Bluewolf458



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Bluewolf458
Summary: Ventriss's reaction to being in prison
Comments: 12
Kudos: 15





	Conover Might Be Better

**Author's Note:**

> I recently found this on my computer. I think it was written about 2005 for a writing weekend.

Conover Might Be Better

by Bluewolf

Guilty! Fucking lawyers! What the hell do they think Pops pays them for? Damn Ellison anyway - and that little creep Sandburg. It was that bitch Suzanne, though, who really dropped me in it. Her legal team was smart and fast enough to plea bargain her out of the most serious charges; when she stood up and testified against me I knew I was in deep shit. Me, Brad Ventriss, remanded in custody while the judge makes up his mind about sentencing. Of course Pops will lodge an appeal, and I'm bound to win, but who'd've thought it would come to this? Somebody's gonna pay, and pay good.

***

Weird thing last night. I'd just settled in when I got that creepy feeling that I was being watched. There didn't seem to be any surveillance cameras, and as far as I could tell the observation panel in the door was closed, but I just knew that someone was watching me.

Next thing I noticed was that the light bulb in my cell began to fade; shadows gathered in the corners and I'd swear that I could see something moving there in the dimness. I squinted, but just as I thought the coiling shape was coming into focus there was the clatter of metal in the corridor outside. I blinked, and the light level was back to normal and I was alone in the cell.

My sleep was broken that night; every little noise brought me awake, and I couldn't help but switch on the light and peer into the corners. There was nothing there, of course. Like I said, weird.

***

Pops came to see me today. Told me the lawyers were working on my appeal, but that there's been an added complication. Seems my conviction has brought a couple more losers out of the woodwork whining about the way I'd treated them. I'd lay odds that little runt Sandburg's had a hand in that. Him and his cop buddy... Hey, wonder if we could make anything of that for the appeal? Seems odd a guy like Ellison would put up with that little queer hanging around unless he was putting out. I suggested it to Pops, and he said he'd pass it on to the legal team, but he didn't sound any too hopeful. He's already tried buying off some of the new witnesses, without success. I told him to double the offer; they're probably only holding out for more.

***

Another bad night. Pretty sure I was only dreaming, but the shadows in the corner of my cell seemed more solid last night. I'd swear there was a great black cat prowling round my bed - I could hear it spitting and hissing. Suddenly it sprang onto the bed and I yelled out as the fire of its claws raked across my chest. It leapt away, and instinctively I reached down; there were deep bleeding gashes where it had savaged me.

I must've woken up then, because the cat was gone, and Ellison was standing at the foot of my bed. His eyes were the cold blue of ice at the heart of a glacier, and I knew, I just knew, that if I didn't get out of the cell I was a dead man.

I scrambled out of bed and made for the door, banging and yelling for help, redoubling my efforts as I saw the blood on my fingers. Ellison chuckled, and I swear, I SWEAR I felt his hand on my shoulder. The cell door opened and I wrenched myself away. Guess the guards don't think I'm much of a threat, because Hendrikson was so taken by surprise he stepped back and I was able to push my way into the corridor.

I was babbling about Ellison, and the scratches, demanding my lawyers and a doctor, threatening a lawsuit. A couple more guards came running, and I finally calmed down enough to tell them what had happened.

Now, see, I'd been standing in the cell doorway. There was no way anyone could have got past me; but when Hendrikson pushed the door open the room was empty. Then when I looked down at my chest, the bleeding gashes had faded to barely visible pale pink lines, as though I'd scratched myself in my sleep, and my bloodstained hand was clean.

To be honest I lost it for a moment, insisting that Ellison had been there, that he'd been intimidating me, but I could tell from the get-go they didn't believe me. They pushed me back into the cell. I spent the rest of the night sitting on the edge of my bed, jumping at every sound, afraid to close my eyes for fear of what might be in the room when I opened them.

***

Got a bit of a shock today. Two of my legal team turned up to discuss the appeal, and reminded me Washington State has the death penalty. However, they reckoned that my age was on my side. Not too sure about that - the judge was giving me some nasty looks. Hey, wonder if we could use that? Prejudice by the judge is surely grounds for appeal.

Could hardly keep my mind on the discussion, though. My chest was aching deep inside, the skin burning, although even the faint marks of last night had vanished.

I told the lawyers that I was sure Ellison was somehow watching me; even if I'd dreamed him last night I constantly have the feeling of being watched. Don't think they believed me, though.

The death penalty... It won't come to that... will it?

***

Eighty without parole. Not death, then, but it might as well be. Tomorrow I'll be transferred to State Prison. God help me.

Got back from court yesterday shell shocked and shaking. Pops promised he'd keep on fighting for me, but looks like there's some things money just can't buy.

I could feel the watcher again, so it was no surprise when I looked up and saw the cat - the panther - in the corner of the room. Its eyes were Ellison's. It watched me, growling low, and I finally decided that I must be crazy after all. Who'd've thought it? Maybe an insanity plea and Conover would have been a better bet after all. At least I'd've stood a chance of getting out. That struck me as funny, and I was laughing when the cat's growling seemed to morph into speech.

"You hurt the Guide."

"Huh?" Now my hallucinations were auditory as well.

Suddenly the cat seemed to melt and flow into a pool of shadow that coiled and rose into a column of smoke that surged and billowed for a moment before contracting into the figure of Ellison. Those cold eyes bored into me, and I felt the pain in my chest surge deeper and stronger.

I decided I had nothing to lose. I was mad, wasn't I?

"Why?" I asked, in what I thought was a reasonable tone. "Why does it matter to you?"

"You hurt the Guide." Ellison's smile was predatory, as cold as his eyes.

With a feeling of surprise I noticed that he was dressed in combat fatigues, his face striped with camouflage, then I remembered hearing that he'd been an army Ranger. Strange what your imagination can dream up.

"You mean Sandburg? C'mon, man, he only had to keep quiet..."

Ellison took a step closer. "You will serve your sentence. You will not have the option of an insanity plea. And for every day of your life you will not be free of me. Over the years you will come to understand what you have done."

"Ellison..."

"My name is Enqueri. It will become clear to you. There is plenty of time."

The figure seemed to fade, dissolving into smoke. I fell back onto the bed. Part of my mind was wondering just where that particular hallucination had come from.

The rest of me was screaming. 


End file.
